Advanced Studies in Automotive Care
by Crittab
Summary: Jeff Winger's team is at the top of Greendale's underground auto racing circuit. The one thing he's missing is the best driver in the game, Annie Edison, who works for a rival. Very AU, VERY M.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Community.

**Advanced Studies in Automotive Care**

**Chapter 1**

_Jeff POV_

Remember the rush the first time you made a touchdown, or the first time a girl let you fuck her into oblivion? Remember the way your blood pumped so viscously that it rang in your ears and your heart thumped so hard in your chest that you thought you might pass out?

It's like that, only better.

I remember my first crash. I was barely even present for it, the adrenaline had lifted me so far out of my body. I was racing down the empty freeway at 3 AM with my buddy on my tail. He was weaving between lanes without care, doing anything to gain momentum, to get an edge on me—but he couldn't. I was gone, soaring over the slick pavement at 115 mph, barely noticing the blur of the trees as they whizzed by. The race ended so suddenly—one moment I was bracing for a curve and the next the car was flipping end over end, eventually coming to a hard landing in a ditch. I was thrown through the windshield and landed about fifteen feet away. I'm told I was conscious when they found me, but I didn't think that was possible; it didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. All I could feel was incredible adrenaline coursing through my veins, making me hyper, crazed. All I wanted was to get back in the car and go again.

A few hours later, that seemed like a bad idea, as I had been admitted to the hospital and fitted with numerous casts and bandages. But even as I laid in the hospital bed in agony, I couldn't forget the rush. It was incredible, and I knew I had to find it again.

And so began my journey into the racing underworld, where bets were made, laws were broken and people were killing and being killed just for the right to race fast cars. Maybe it sounds stupid, or juvenile, but at sixteen both of those words would have been acceptable adjectives to describe me. Now, at 35, I'm more than just the idiot kid with the racing fetish—I'm the leader. I say who's in and who's out and who gets to race when. I get a cut of every race that goes through our ring, and I get the glory that comes with it. If you still think this is stupid, you're welcome to step in front of my Viper when I gun it down a deserted back road.

Of course, I can't run this joint alone. Every great syndicate needs a loyal team, and mine is second to none.

Abed is my reader. He has a sense about people that I've always been slightly afraid of, and that's what makes him so valuable. Not only does he know if they're great drivers, he also knows if they're loyal. He knows if they'll turn on us as soon as someone offers them a better deal. He's cold, calculating, and he won't hesitate to put a bullet in anyone who steps out of line. He's my right-hand man in every race negotiation.

Pierce is my backer. If you're wondering how I became the leader of Greendale's underworld, this is your answer: Pierce ran the place before I showed up 19 years ago. He was old then, but wasn't ready to give up the throne until he knew he'd found someone he could trust to keep it running. His money started this place, and keeps it running to this day. He taught me to drive, he taught me to lie and he taught me to kill. Nearly every necessary skill I possess, I learned from Pierce. If I had a dad—and I don't—he'd be it.

Shirley is my technician. I've never met another person who knows the inner workings of a car like her. She's brilliant in every sense of the word, and can make any heap of crap into a top-notch racer. She once maxed out a Sedan at 160 after working on it for 17 minutes. That woman is the reason we have the best fleet in the field.

Last, but definitely not least are Troy and Britta, my stars. They drive better than anyone I've ever met... well, except myself. Britta can negotiate a 120 degree turn at 170 miles per hour without breaking a sweat, and Troy is the only person I know who can keep a Lamborghini grounded at 200. Between them, I have a perfect win record.

Well, until recently.

You see, for every great syndicate, there is an equally great rival. Ours is a smaller group led by Ben Chang, or, as he requires people to call him, El Tigre. His team is nowhere near as good as mine, but he has one thing on me that I've never been able to match.

Annie Edison.

Edison is a better driver than Troy and Britta put together—she may even be better than me. She's fast, she's cunning, and she's ruthless. I've lost more than a few drivers during some of the more intense races with her. She outsmarts people more than she out-drives them. One moment you think you're in the free-and-clear and suddenly she's alongside you, forcing you headlong into the ditch. Her method is a mind game, fraught with intricacies that I haven't been able to figure out.

Chang brought Edison in from Tampa where she was part of a larger, more renowned group of racers led by Starburns, a coke dealer who had cash burning a hole in his pocket and a fetish for fast cars. Down there he had made a much bigger spectacle of what was supposed to be an underground venture and ended up getting arrested, along with the majority of his team. Edison, though... Edison was too smart for the Tampa PD. She was too innocent and unassuming to be associated with dirt like Starburns. She wore cardigans and miniskirts and wore a backpack with special compartments for her pens and highlighters. The cops had tried to get evidence enough to convict her, but somehow she came out of it squeaky clean, and ran for the hills as soon as she was cleared to leave the state.

When she arrived in Colorado, Chang wasted no time scooping her up. I'd heard about her exploits in Tampa, but that little bastard was faster than me. He got her, and I got screwed. I went from 10-0 to 10-4 in less than a month. I had always been the odds on favourite for bookies and rookie betters, and suddenly I was losing cash flow because of _El Tigre_ and his bitch of a new driver.

Edison was a royal pain in my ass.

Which was precisely what brought me to the course this summer, standing among the crowd of smelly betters, taking in my first Edison race. I don't spend much time actually watching the races anymore. The sidelines are no place for a guy like me—I need to be behind the wheel to feel the thrill that racing used to bring me. The only reason I was there was to see this chick in action, and figure out what the hell to do about her before our next race.

The location was a dirt road on the outskirts of Greendale. Edison was racing a wannabe from a lower syndicate in town that was doing its damndest to become noteworthy. They were like the hat club of racing teams—useless, but loud and obnoxious all the same. They had a few mildly talented racers, like Magnitude and Vicki; those two defected from my group when the leader of this upstart offered them a place in his elite. It wasn't much of a loss, considering the quality of my remaining racers, but it still pissed me off; I had been training Vicki _personally, _if you know what I mean.

I watched the scene in front of me unfold, as Magnitude revved his engine like the show-off he had always been. I couldn't see Edison behind the tinted windows her car sported, but she was doing no showboating to offset the idiot next to her. Suddenly a gunshot was fired, and a cloud of dust was kicked up behind Magnitude's car as he floored the gas, wheels spinning in place for a good two seconds before he actually started moving. Edison, on the other hand, moved immediately, actually setting her car into motion before flooring it and quickly taking the lead.

Watching something so simple as her opening move enthralled me. Though I hate to admit it, even I have a tendency to squeal the tires at the beginning of a race, the adrenaline overtaking the more logical parts of my brain. I could see very quickly that Edison was not a slave to her most basic instincts—a quality that was very valuable in a racer.

Moments after the two cars disappeared down the road, one could be seen returning at top speed. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened two miles down the road—it was the same thing that always happened when Edison raced an overzealous idiot. Magnitude was no-doubt sitting in a ditch somewhere, scratching his head and wondering what the hell just happened, and Edison had made the 180 degree turn with ease and cruised back to the starting line.

I bit back a nasty retort to the nearest member of the crowd when they all went wild as Edison brought her overheated engine to a much-needed stop. Despite my less-than-friendly feelings toward Magnitude, I would have liked to see someone, anyone beat this little bitch from Tampa who was ruining my business. I bit my tongue and tried to focus on my real motivation for going to the race that day. I was determined to leave that course with a new driver.

When Edison stepped out of the car, I couldn't help the smirk that made it onto my face. This chick was hot. Beyond hot. She had long, dark brown hair, crystalline blue eyes, and pink puffy lips that begged for debauchery. She was exactly the kind of girl that I knew how to work—and hey, if it meant I'd have to fuck the competition, I'd be happy to take one for the team. I stood back and watched the crowd surge toward her, showering her with praise which she took with a small, confident smile.

I waited for a good 15 minutes for the crowd to disperse before making my way in. By then she was examining her car for bumps and bruises. I watched her for a moment as she took inventory of every knick. It was almost sweet, the way she cared about the machine. It reminded me of the intimate relationship I had with my Viper.

I shook that thought away as I approached her.

"You've got some good moves, kid." She looked up at me, startled. I put on my kindest smile, hoping to disarm her. "Jeff Winger," I introduced myself, holding out my hand. She looked at it for a moment before reaching forward and grasping it with her own. She had a firm grip. It wasn't commensurate with the yellow cardigan and flowered skirt she was wearing—though, neither was her driving.

"Annie Edison." I offered a small chuckle, which I hoped she found as sexy as most other women did.

"Oh, I know who you are. You're the girl who's wiping the floor with my drivers," I told her. She tried very hard to hide the cocky smile that wanted to break onto her face, but I caught a flash of it before she sobered.

"Is Magnitude one of yours?" she asked. I scoffed.

"Magnitude? No—he's with a crap team out of eastern Greendale. I run the north and west sides."

"Greendale's not very big. Do you really need to split it up by geography?"

"It's either that or by elementary school alliances, which sort of broke down once we all got to Riverside High." She laughed softly. It had a very pleasant musical lilt to it that I quite liked. She seemed to be more at ease with me now. "I'm actually surprised you haven't heard of me. I figured working for Chang he would have filled you in." She shrugged.

"I guess he didn't think it was that big a deal." I couldn't tell if she was baiting me, or genuinely in the dark.

"I guess it isn't then," I said, fighting back my ego in efforts to keep her talking. "So tell me about your car. It handles ridiculously well on soft ground." She beamed, clearly very proud of her car; it was endearing. She spent the next ten minutes telling me everything there was to know about her Mustang—an old rescue that she helped rebuild and mould into racing form. I listened with rapt attention, both because I wanted to build a rapport with her, and also because something about the way she explained rebuilding an engine turned me on to no end.

As she explained each part of her car, she led me around it, showing me as she went. She dragged her fingers across the exterior in a manner that was almost sensual, allowing them to float over the curves and dip into the crevices. When she finally finished, we were back at the front of the vehicle, and she was leaning casually against the hood. I stayed silent for a moment, mainly because I was aroused by her intimate knowledge of her car, and honestly didn't know what to say.

"Are you impressed?" she asked after a moment.

"I am." I reached down and ran my hand gently over the hood. She watched it go, and her mouth opened ever so slightly as I dragged it back toward us, allowing it to come to rest just a hairs-breadth from where her hip was in contact with the hood. "It's beautiful," I said, staring directly at her. I watched her eyes flick from mine, to my hand, and then slowly up my torso before finally resting on my mouth. Her tongue darted out of her mouth and wet her lips.

"It is," she whispered. She looked up to my eyes once more. "Would you like to see the inside?"

"Depends. What kind of interiors do you have?" I tried to play as cool as I could, realizing that getting to Annie would be much, much easier than I had anticipated. She was practically handing herself over to me on a silver platter. Chang could kiss his brief time in the winner's circle goodbye.

"All leather upholstery," she whispered, stepping a little closer to me. I swallowed hard. As much as I wanted to be in control of this little moment, it was becoming harder and harder to do so with her looking up at me the way she was, and pressing her body against mine just enough to make me want to grab her ass and grind myself into her.

"Easy to clean up." My arms circled her waist, mainly because her proximity made it impossible not to. She wrapped her arms around my neck.

"I like my seats to be able to take a good beating." I couldn't quite account for the sound that emanated from my chest—a grunt, or a growl, or some variation of the two, as I surged forward and claimed her lips. They were exactly as soft as I imagined, and pliable beneath mine. She opened her mouth and sucked in my lower lip, biting down with a ferocity that sent a wave of arousal through my whole body. Together, we stumbled around to the side of the car, and I forced her against the passenger side door, finally grinding my arousal into her, loving the way she lifted herself up to meet me and push back.

Eventually we managed to pull ourselves off of each other long enough to open the door to the back seat. Annie gave me a light push and I slid into the seat where she immediately joined me, climbing into my lap and slamming the door behind us. Now, with her hips flush against mine, I allowed myself to fully explore her body, pushing away material where it became a barrier. Her cardigan was the first thing to go, followed quickly by her blouse and bra. She made quick work of the buttons on my shirt, pushing it off my shoulders and wrapping her arms around my neck, allowing me to feel her hot skin against mine.

The feel of her against me was almost too much. Needing to feel all of her, I reached under her skirt and tugged her panties down. She kicked them off while simultaneously undoing the button and zipper on my jeans and pulling my erection out from my underwear. I didn't have to do anything more, as she quickly reclaimed her seat in my lap, and in two short dips, took me inside of her completely.

She was so wet and so tight that I nearly lost it right away. I grabbed her by the hips and held her down on me for a moment while I regained my bearings, kissing her soundly to silence her protests before allowing her to start moving.

The pace she set was fast and hard, rising and landing on top of me with a desperate need that matched my own. I began to meet her with thrusts of my own, as much as I was able to in the cramped back seat of her Mustang.

"Fuck, Annie," I grunted, pushing up into her as hard as I could. She let out a moan that was so insanely sexy that I could barely keep from coming on the spot as it vibrated through her body and into mine. I sunk down in the seat a little more, giving myself some more room to thrust up into her harder. I was so close, and I could tell by the look of pure ecstasy on her face that she was too.

She began to ride me harder and faster than before, a feat I wasn't sure was even possible. I decided to sit back and watch the show for a moment, trying to commit as much of this moment as I possibly could to memory: a gorgeous brunette bouncing up and down on my dick, breasts joining in the rhythm, inside of one of the sexiest cars I'd ever seen. This was what wet dreams were made of. I lifted her skirt so I could see myself going in and out of her, and the visual was so purely erotic that I felt my orgasm begin to build.

I grabbed her by the hips and began thrusting up violently into her as she came down on me with as much force as she could muster. The sounds in the car were a mix of wetness, slapping, moans and grunts from both of us, and I could feel her tightening around me as I became nearer and nearer to my own climax. Just as I was about to lose it entirely, she began contracting around me, her face forming the most magnificent look of pure ecstasy that I'd ever seen. As she pulsed around me, I could no longer contain myself. With three hard thrusts I exploded inside of her, grunting her name with each motion.

As she came down for her orgasm, she ground her clit against me, finding a friction that quickly brought her up a second time. I watched in exhausted awe as she used my body for her own pleasure in the sexiest way. If I'd had anything else in me, I probably would have come for a second time.

After her second orgasm she slumped against me, resting her head on my shoulder as she breathed hard.

The car was hot, and the tinted windows were covered with the steam we had created. Both of us were slippery with sweat as we peeled ourselves away from one another and corrected our clothing situations before lazily opening the door and pulling ourselves out into the fresh air. If I was a smoker, I'd have probably lit a cigarette.

"That was pretty fucking amazing," I told her honestly. She laughed lightly and nodded her agreement. I braced myself for the pitch. "We should do this again. What do you think about joining my team? We could spend some more time together."

I know what I expected. Annie was young, and had just been thoroughly fucked. Any other girl like her would have fallen all over me and jumped at the opportunity to be more than just a one night stand. Annie though... well... she laughed at me.

"Please, Winger," she scoffed. "You don't really think I wasn't aware this whole time what you were trying to do here?"

"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying my best to keep my poker face, despite being stunned by her abrupt change of demeanour.

"Chang told me all about you. I knew who you were the moment you showed up here in your designer jeans and with your perfectly over-styled bedhead." I felt my opportunity to stick it to Chang slipping away.

"But you slept with me." It wasn't much, but it was all I had. She just laughed made her way over to the driver's side door, opening it and looking over the car at me.

"Eh, I work for Chang, but I fuck who I want," she winked at me ... the cocky little bitch actually winked at me. "Thanks for the lay, Winger. I'll see you on the road."

I was left stunned as she climbed into the debauched Mustang, gunned the engine, and peeled away. I had been outsmarted by a 21 year old girl.

This was more than just business. This was personal.

~~

A/N: This is going to be my first attempt at a multi-chapter Community fic, and also my first attempt at something completely AU in this fandom. Hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Community.

**Advanced Studies in Automotive Care**

**Chapter 2**

_APOV_

For as long as I can remember, racing has been a part of my life. As a kid I would watch my dad tear down dirt roads, pushing other drivers into ditches and making 180 degree turns at the drop of a hat. He was the best in the Tampa underground racing community, and from the time I could reach the pedals, he was training me to carry on the family name.

I started racing competitively when I was fourteen. The whole thing was underground, and there were lots of unlicensed, underage drivers like me. Our parents were so deeply embedded in the circuit that it was unthinkable that their children wouldn't eventually become part of it. I still can't remember if it was my choice to get behind the wheel, or if my dad put me there and coached me along until I became just as embroiled in it as he was.

I was seventeen when I watched my dad and most of his team get arrested at a race. Back then the Tampa team was headed up by Leonard Rodriguez, and old white guy with absolutely no Mexican heritage to speak of. I asked him about it once—he said it was about street cred (Leonard Butts didn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of his competitors).

Once Leonard, Dad and the rest of the crew had been put in jail, a new leader came in to take over. His name was Alex Jones, but we all called him Starburns (after his star-shaped sideburns, of course). Starburns was a complete moron. He'd been the kingpin of an international drug cartel for years, and only got involved in racing to expand his criminal enterprise. I considered leaving the team when Starburns took control, but I didn't want to stop racing, and the only alternative was to join the rival team. My dad would have had a heart attack if he found out I'd gone with Tampa East, so I sucked it up and became Starburn's star driver.

Starburns was truly a disgusting human being, in every sense of the word. He liked me as soon as he met me, and even though I was only seventeen, he started bringing me with him everywhere. He tried to dictate my every move—who I could talk to, when I could race, what I could wear. He was the most domineering person I'd ever met, but I stuck with him out of the sick sense of loyalty that my dad had engrained in me from a young age.

I didn't start sleeping with Starburns until I was eighteen. It was his 'birthday present' to me. I didn't really want to sleep with him, but I was young and naive and didn't know how to say no. When he started to make moves, I had no idea how to respond other than to just let him do what he wanted with me. For the next three years he kept me at his side, racing (and winning) constantly, and then fucking me to 'celebrate'.

It wasn't all bad, though. Despite how incredibly disgusted I was with Starburns, sleeping with someone that gross actually opened my eyes to a skill I wasn't aware I had: the ability to shut off, and do whatever was necessary to get a lag up. After I started sleeping with him, my racing got better because I realized I didn't care if the other driver made it out alive. I started seducing other drivers whenever I thought I could gain an advantage from their affections. It didn't hurt that I was classically beautiful, and that my schoolgirl routine was so effective on so many unsuspecting saps.

Ultimately, it was Starburns' creepy obsession with me that made me into the person I am today: ruthless, detached, and acutely aware of every leering idiot I cross.

That said, I wasn't the least bit disappointed when his showboating got him and the majority of his cronies arrested. They tried to take me too, but just like every other guy I met, no one saw me as a threat.

After the Tampa racing scene had been taken down by the cops for a second time, I began to realize that there would be no way to rebuild it in the near future. The police were watching all of us, just waiting for us to slip up so they could take the rest in. Eventually, I began looking for alternatives, because even though the Tampa scene had dried up, I still felt the itch. Racing had become my identity, and if I couldn't do it there, I was going to find somewhere else that I could.

I'd heard rumblings from some friends that things were heating up in Colorado. There were a few duelling teams that had become renowned in the underground for being ruthless, and their drivers were considered to be some of the best. It didn't take long after my name had been cleared for me to pack up and head west. I didn't know who I'd join up with when I got there, but anything was better than sitting back and waiting for the police to come up with an excuse to arrest me.

As it turned out, the folks in Colorado were aware of me as I was of them. It took about three hours after I rolled into town for the first offer to come in. Ben Chang— sorry, _El Tigre_— headed up the second most successful team in the circuit, but he was convinced that with me, they could take the top spot. Their archrival was run by some guy named Winger, who Tigre described as tall, dark and handsome, but fiercely gay and balding.

As soon as I started driving for Tigre, I knew I had made the right decision by coming to Colorado. I was wiping the floor with the competition, and despite being a creepy old Asian guy, I actually got along quite well with Tigre. He was endlessly complimentary without being gross, and he thanked me constantly for choosing to join up with him.

The other teams, as it turned out, were a cinch to beat. There was a small team out of eastern Greendale that had a bunch of newbie drivers who didn't stand a chance, but the real competition was supposedly from the team out of the north and west, led by Winger. I wasn't sure what Tigre had been so concerned about with this team—I wiped the floor with the first four drivers I'd crossed. The first had been a fat guy named Neil—he'd ended up in a lake. Next was a small bald man who asked everyone to call him Dean—he lost control coming out of a curve and smashed into the guardrail. Check and Check.

The next two were tougher. The first was a black guy who easily overtook me at first, managing to get up to an insane 215 mph in about ten seconds, but then he got cocky and lost it on the 180 at the back of the course, spinning out and losing all momentum. I overtook him without too much hassle. The second was a blond chick—gorgeous, and ruthless. She tried to use my own tactic of forcing people into the ditch, but she was way too slow. Although she made an effortless 180, by that point I was halfway back to the starting point.

There was no way this team was as good as Tigre claimed they were. If their best was the blond and the black guy, our team would be taking the lead in no time.

I had been racing in Greendale for about two months before I finally laid eyes on the guy that had Tigre so riled up. Winger hadn't bothered attending my races against his four drivers, so I hadn't had an opportunity to size him up. That changed not long after I schooled the blond. Winger showed up for my race against a cocksure asshole from the third-place team in the circuit. I knew it was him as soon as I saw him. He looked exactly like Tigre described: he was tall, dark and handsome. His hair was purposefully askew, and his sunglasses were firmly in place. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Gap ad—very much out of place among the betters and grunges that frequent races.

After the race, I was acutely aware of him sizing me up as I talked with the others in attendance. He watched in the same way so many other men had watched me before, and I realized that Tigre had been wrong about one thing: Winger wasn't gay, he was just another dirty old man who thought he had me all figured out. They were my favourite kind.

Fucking Winger was as much fulfilling a personal vendetta against assholes as it was a prudent business move. I figured if I could knock him off his pedestal just a little bit, then I would have all the more power over him and his pathetic little group of amateurs.

The look on his face as I walked away was worth much more than the price of admission. And, I'll admit, the lay was pretty damn good too. I could feel him dripping out of me and onto my seat as I drove away.

When I returned to home base—an old warehouse on the outskirts of town—Tigre had already heard about my win. He met me at the door with a smile.

"There's my girl!" he greeted, pulling me into an awkward hug. Tigre was about three inches shorter than me and he dressed like a Cuban cab driver. He wore too much cologne, and had recently begun styling his hair like Justin Bieber circa 2010.

"Heeey," I dragged the word out as I tried my best to extricate myself from his tiny grasp. Getting the hint, he stepped back and put his hands on his hips.

"Edison, tonight, we're celebrating." I raised an eyebrow.

"Why? I beat the new kid on the crap team—it wasn't exactly the showdown of the century."

"No, no, not that. We're celebrating because today we officially became the odds-on favourite for next month's battle royale against Greendale East and Winger, and it's all because of you, you little firecracker," he gave my chin an awkward nudge.

"So what does that mean for you?" I asked, genuinely curious. I'd never been involved in the business side of the racing circuit. All I knew was that people placed bets, and when I won, I got a cut. All the rest was just white noise in the background while I did what I loved to do. Tigre led me through the warehouse into his small office that acted as central command for the organization, talking as we walked.

"It means that if you manage to pull out a win at the battle, we're in for a huge payday. I'm not talking about the chump change we've been getting for your past few races, I'm talking big bucks." His excitement radiated off of him as he talked about the prospect of our team's first major win. I couldn't help the way my stomach flipped at the news.

"What kind of money are we talking about here?" He sat behind his desk and motioned for me to sit across from him.

"You know what? The money doesn't even matter. I mean, it does—and there's a _lot _of it—but what really matters is street cred around here. Winger's team has won this battle every single year that we've done it. I can't wait to see his smug, pointy little face when you drive his bitches off the road." Winger's smug, pointy little face flashed in my brain when Tigre brought him up. I couldn't help my own grin when I pictured his expression as I drove away, leaving him dazed and confused in my wake.

"Speaking of Winger, I finally met him today," I told Tigre, excited to share my victory over that smug douche earlier that afternoon.

"Ahh, so the elusive Mr. Winger finally showed up for a duel, eh?" Tigre leaned forward slightly on his desk. "What did he do when you won? Did he cry? Please tell me he cried."

"No, he didn't cry," I said, laughing. Tigre's excitement was infectious. "But I did get that bastard good. It felt amazing to take him down a peg." Tigre began visibly vibrating in his chair.

"What did you do to him?" the older man looked like a kid on Christmas morning. I had considered not sharing my deception with him, but not even I could deny a face like that.

"Well, you were wrong about one thing. Winger is most certainly _not_ gay. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he thought he had one up on me. He tried to seduce me into joining his team—but I turned it around on the son of a bitch. I let him think he had me, that I had no idea who he was and that I'd be just as easy to sway as every other girl he tried to work his charm on. Then, afterward, I pulled the rug out from under him. You should have seen his face as I drove away—completely destroyed." In my excitement, I failed to notice the light leaving Tigre's eyes.

"Afterward...what? What did you do?" he demanded, suddenly angrier than I'd ever seen him. I was taken aback by his sudden shift in mood.

"Well, after we... you know..."

"No, I don't know. Spell it out for me, Edison." I sat back in my chair, putting as much space between us as I could.

"After I fucked him," I explained. I tried to sound confident, but I'd never seen Tigre so angry. He banged his fist down on the table, making me jump. For a small man, he had a menacing streak.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" he cried.

"I..."

"No, for real. You're fucking with me, right?"

"I don't understand what you're so upset about," I returned, unwilling to let this small Chinese man get the better of me.

"So you mean to tell me that I finally have _one thing_ on Winger, and instead of just letting me have that, you decide to go actually _be on him_?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, for God's sake, woman! If I wanted you to fuck him I would have told you to!" I stopped for a moment, flabbergasted that this man actually thought he had the right to dictate those kinds of things in my life. He continued ranting before I could retaliate. "You don't call the shots around here, kid. You do as I say, when I say it. And you don't, under any circumstances _FUCK _the competition!"

I jumped out of my seat, surging forward to the desk, leaning over him in a way that I hoped was menacing.

"First, _Chang_, you don't tell me who I can and cannot sleep with. I drive for you—I am _not_ your property. Second, if you want me to stick around and keep winning for your team, you'd better get your shit straightened out, because I will _not_ sit here and let you dictate my life!" Chang stood up, meeting me at eye level.

"Edison, I don't care what you do on your own time, but I draw the line at letting you fuck Winger." I stood back, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Well that's too damn bad. I fuck who I want, and you? You can either accept that and continue to cash in, or I can take my car somewhere else." Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out, unwilling to hear another thing the man had to say.

My next move could have been called petulant or childish, but after that conversation, there was only one thing I was interested in doing—and that _thing _was Jeff Winger.

~~

_A/N: Merry almost Christmas everyone. This fic is brought to you by the letter Q._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Community.

**Advanced Studies in Automotive Care**

**Chapter 3**

_JPOV_

If you were to ask me why I was so, so pissed off after my meeting with Annie, I probably couldn't have explained myself. Sure, she'd one-upped me, but I'd gotten a killer lay out of it, which really should have helped ease the irritation. But for some reason, it just didn't. I was mad. More than mad, I was embarrassed, and I don't take kindly to being made to feel anything other than awesome.

Britta tried to talk to me when I burst through the door of our warehouse. So did Troy. Shirley and Abed were smart, though. They just stood back and let me fume my way to my office. I could hear Britta's snarky, "What crawled up his ass and died?" through the door, but I couldn't be bothered to engage with her. I just wanted to sit back, pull out my premium scotch, and stew in my own aggravation. I figured this would also be a good time to come up with a way to get back at that little bitch for making me feel like... well... a little bitch.

Abed knocked lightly on the door before entering. Had it been anyone else I would have told them to fuck off, but for some reason Abed was a different case. He sat down wordlessly across the desk from me and poured himself half a glass of liquor.

He and I drank for a few minutes in silence. Abed was a good sounding board—he didn't offer an opinion until it was requested.

"You went to the race today." His voice was quiet, but still reverberated off the metal walls of my make-shift office.

"Yep."

"Did she win?" I levelled him with a glare. "She won."

"You wouldn't be in here if you didn't already know that."

"That's not what you're upset about, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"Years of observation, mostly." I huffed a wry laugh and downed the rest of my scotch.

"Okay, fine, that's not what I'm upset about." He sat back in his chair, sipping at the harsh liquid in his glass. It made me thirsty—I poured myself another. He didn't say anything, he simply waited for me to explain. "I don't want to talk about it, Abed."

"Okay." He sipped again, but didn't make a move to leave.

We sat together in silence for a few moments longer, drinking and waiting each other out. Inevitably, Abed won.

"I fucked her." My voice was mostly drowned out by the sound of Shirley's auto-shop in the next room, but he heard me.

"You fuck lots of people."

"Yea, well... not like this." He just nodded and sipped his scotch, waiting for me to explain. I eventually did, mostly just because I wanted to know if he thought I was more worked up than I should be.

"She outsmarted you." It was a statement more than a question. I felt the irritation burn in my gut.

"You could say that."

"Would_ you_ say that?"

"I thought I just did."

"Not in so many words..."

"Abed!"

"Sorry." He sipped his scotch. "So she outsmarted you. Why are you so pissed about it?"

I heaved a heavy sigh. "Well... she's a kid. She's what, 21? There's no way she's better at this than I am. No fucking way."

"So it's an ego thing?"

"Of course it's an ego thing, Abed! I thought that was already established."

"Okay, well then if it's an ego thing you should try to determine why your ego is so bruised over something like this. You didn't get the driver you wanted, but you got laid. Seems like a fair trade off." I swished scotch around in my mouth as I contemplated his.

"I guess," I allowed after a moment—though I was still irrationally irritated.

Maybe it wasn't just the fact that she outsmarted me. Maybe it was the fact that she was such a little _bitch_ about it. Or _maybe_ it was the fact that I very much would have liked a second go-around, which was pretty unlikely since she turned down my offer to join my team. As it stood, once Vicky left, so did my free, easy fuck. Annie would have been a pretty fucking awesome replacement in that department.

Of course, Vicky never had any real expectations from me. God knows what this Annie chick would be like. She seemed like the clingy type.

I settled into that frame of mind. Maybe this was all for the best. Maybe I didn't want Annie. Maybe I just wanted to get laid, and to have the winning team.

Well, getting laid had never been a problem for me—and having a winning team was just going to take a little more training with Britta and Troy. If they weren't up to snuff just yet, they would be by the time the Battle Royale came around—and El Tigre and Annie could suck it. I didn't need her, and her being on Tigre's team would make it all the more sweet to kick his tiny little ass all the way back to his little hovel full of inept drivers and... Annie.

Fucking Annie.

She was going to be a problem for me. I knew it.

Abed and I were pulled from our silence by a knock at the door. Shirley popped her head in.

"Jeff, you have a guest." My brow furrowed. Shirley didn't look terribly impressed.

"Who is it?" Her lips formed a thin line.

"One of _Tigre's_ drivers. She wants to talk to you." I felt my heartbeat pick up a little. It couldn't actually be her, could it?

"Let her in," I instructed. I nodded to Abed to leave. He set his glass down on the table and extricated himself from the seat just as my _guest_ appeared in the doorway. Abed gave her the once-over before heading to the door. He gave me a look before shutting it behind him—it either could have meant, "Well done, Winger," or, "Don't do anything stupid." It was always hard to tell with him.

"Edison," I greeted coldly.

"Winger," she returned in the same tone, taking the seat Abed had just vacated.

"What do you want?" I wasn't really in the mood for her right now—even if my pants began to tighten as soon as I laid eyes on her. She was still a little dishevelled from out meeting that morning. Her version of sex hair might have been the best I'd ever seen.

"Actually, I think the real question is, what do _you_ want."

"I don't follow," I answered honestly. She settled back into the chair, primly clasping her fists in her lap.

"I think we've stumbled upon an opportunity here, Mr. Winger."

"Jeff," I corrected. That _was_ the name she'd been screaming earlier, anyhow.

"Jeff," she allowed. "As I was saying—I think we have an opportunity here... to help each other." I couldn't help but laugh.

"Help each other? I think that door has already been closed, Annie. I know you haven't forgotten this morning—it was pretty memorable." She rolled her eyes.

"God, I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were a cocky bastard."

"And yet here you are." She sighed deeply and leaned over the desk, giving me a good view of her cleavage as she grabbed Abed's discarded glass of scotch—still half full—and brought it to her lips.

"Here I am." He tone dropped to a low, seductive one. It worked better than it should have. I couldn't help but imagine the taste of her tongue now laced with scotch.

"What are you proposing? I know you're not here to join my team." She shook her head and set her drink back down.

"I had a little run in with Chang after the race this morning," she began. "He pissed me off, and so I came here."

"I'm going to need a few more syllables here." I took a long drink from my glass.

"Chang's pissed that I slept with you." I couldn't help the look of surprised that donned on my face.

"You _told him? _Why?"

"That's not important," she said, waving me off. "The important part is that I'm pissed at Chang. The asshole tried to tell me I wasn't _allowed_ to sleep with you, which just doesn't fly with me. And I _know_ you hate him... so it seems to me that you and I might be able to help each other, you know, get back at him."

"Get back at him... how?" I pressed. This girl wasn't nearly as brazen as she'd pretended to be that morning. Watching her try to explain her way through her thought process was way more amusing than it should have been. I kind of knew where she was going with it, but I wanted to make her say it. Watching her humiliate herself was fun.

"Jeff!" she exclaimed, irritated. I felt slightly vindicated that I was able to rile her up as she had with me.

"Spit it out, Edison, or get the fuck out of my office."

"I want to fuck you," she said, pulling herself out of the chair and leaning over the desk. I watched as she took hold of my glass of scotch and brought it to her lips, draining it in one gulp.

"Okay," I said, fighting back my urge to rip her clothes off for a second time. "And what do I get in return for assisting you in your little act of teenage rebellion?"

"You get fucked, Winger. Haven't you been listening?" I smirked and stood up, easily towering over her as I rounded the desk and perched myself on the edge of it

"Oh I'm listening. All I hear is a petulant child who wants to piss some guy off, and who wants my help to do it. So I'm going to ask again—what do I get in return. I have plenty of other opportunities to get laid, Edison. You're not the only slut in Greendale." She visibly darkened at my choice of words. I felt a surge of power.

"You're an asshole," she spit back. I shrugged.

"That may be, but from where I'm standing, you need me a lot more than I need you." She crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them upward.

I wanted to keep pushing her around—but my pants were impossibly tight, and she was right—pissing off Chang _was_ something I very much enjoyed. Not that I would give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Get on your knees," I Instructed.

"Excuse me?" she came back. I placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down.

"If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way. So get on your fucking knees, or leave."

Predictably, she got on her knees.

I didn't have to explain the rest.

Annie's hands quickly went to the fly of my pants, pushing them and my underwear down far enough so my cock was free. She took it in her hands and pumped it a few times before taking it in her mouth. It was hard to maintain my cocksure composure when she deep-throated me for the first time. Feeling the head of my cock hit the back of her throat nearly made me come on the spot.

I tangled my hands in her hair and began to fuck her mouth freely. She didn't gag once, which was a feat, considering my _considerable length_. She looked up at me with wide, blue eyes, as she began to palm my balls. We did this for a few minutes, her hands and mouth on me, our eyes locked. I considered letting her swallow, but then I remembered how it felt to be sheathed within her, and decided I needed to come inside of her.

I pulled myself from her and guided her up to her feet, leaning her over my desk.

"You still sure about this?" I asked, leaning over her body, my mouth next to her ear. She bucked back into my erection.

"Shut up and fuck me, Winger."

I didn't need much more encouragement than that. In a flash, her underwear was pulled down and her skirt pushed up, and my cock was in place, setting up a hard, fast pace against her. It was tension relieving, being able to fuck away my frustration with the person who caused it.

In the back of my mind I thought that this would be a one-time thing. I'd be able to send her on her way, spent, but taken down a peg. I would win, and she would crawl back to Chang used up.

But then she began to clench around me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to stop. If it was possible to become addicted to one person's body, then Annie was making a very good case for hers.

I reached my arms around her body, pulling her shirt and bra down so I could palm her bare breasts while pounding into her hard from behind. Her breasts we amazing, so full and so firm. I could have written a fucking sonnet about those breasts, and the way they fit perfectly in the palms of my hands. In fact, they weren't the only part of her body that fit me perfectly. As I fucked her she was just tight enough to keep things interesting, while not being too tight or too loose. Of all of the women I'd slept with, Annie was by far the best fit.

But I didn't want to think about that. All I wanted to think about was my release, which was coming hard and fast as she began to tighten around me. Our joint cries were drowned out by the machines out in the warehouse, a relief, considering most of my team members would frown on me fucking the competition—again.

Once we had both finished, I pulled myself away from her and we, for the second time that day, righted ourselves. Annie pulled a Kleenex off of my desk and cleaned herself up where I could see our joint liquids coming out of her. The view was pretty incredible, if I was being honest.

"So, we keep doing this and we both symbolically win?" I asked, once we were both fully redressed. She bit her lip, looking a little regretful. On the one hand, I wanted to make her feel as crappy as she had with me—but on the other hand, I really wanted to keep doing this. The sex was incredible, and I could easily become accustomed to our illicit meetings.

"Look... I like Chang. I like being on his team," she began. I leaned heavily against the door, waiting for her to pull the rug out from under me again. "But," she said firmly. "No one tells me what to do. I may look like a sweet, innocent little girl, but I'm not."

"I can attest to that," I added. She offered a small smile—perhaps the first genuine one I'd seen on her.

"Right, well... I've had men try to dictate my life for me before, and I'm not about to let Chang think he can. I want him to know that he doesn't get to call the shots here," she motioned between us.

"That's understandable," I said slowly. "But I think your point's probably been made now, don't you?"

"Probably." She looked around the office, as if seeking out something that was there. "Or maybe I just want to keep doing this because it's fun." I couldn't help the grin that took up residence on my face.

"So... what now?" I asked. She offered a one shoulder shrug and grabbed her purse.

"I guess I'll see you around?" she asked. She had a slightly hopeful tone in her voice. I nodded slowly, considering what that actually meant.

This would carry on. If for no other reason than it was _fun_.

"I'll see you around," I concluded. I stepped out of the way and opened the door for her, closing it once she was clear.

This was probably a bad idea—but fuck if it didn't feel amazing.

* * *

_Hope you liked it. Let me know!_


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